


Natural Aptitude

by rageprufrock



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey," John said, blinking. "You're kind of a slut, aren't you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Aptitude

"I'm kind of hot," John complained.

Rodney huffed, shoving him through the door of the small cabin at the edge of the forest, and was momentarily blinded by the darkness inside the room as he stepped in after Sheppard and shut the door fiercely.

"Yes, yes, so you've said," Rodney muttered, groping in the dark for a moment before grasped Sheppard's hip. "Oh, there you are--okay. Let's find somewhere for you to lie down."

John--was that a *giggle*? Rodney thought in horror--made a laughing noise and stroked his long fingers over Rodney's, calloused digits smoothing over the back of Rodney's hand, pressing Rodney's palm into the jut of Sheppard's hip.

"I can do that," John said cooperatively. "I enjoy laying."

Rodney swallowed hard. "Lying."

John's eyes glinted in the semi-dark now, and Rodney saw the shape of a pile of cushions up ahead, lush fabrics draped over them.

"You always *lay* something," John said, voice rough and rolling.

"Oh my *God*," Rodney moaned, shaking his head and pulling his hand off of John's hip, shoving him toward the cushions and touching Sheppard as little as possible.

"I knew it, I should have known it--even roofied to the gills you have a completely rotten sense of humor," Rodney babbled, because he hoped that by talking a lot, he'd stop *thinking* about the whole situation, which would be a significant step in the right direction.

"You're funny, Rodney," John said pleasantly, and Rodney knew they were *doomed*.

Earlier that day, when they'd first arrived at the Lapooni village, they'd been welcomed by curious advisors and invited to feast with the head of the village, who had been so taken by John and his filthy, flyboy smile that he'd personally poured all of John's drinks.

At the time, Rodney had found it equal parts nauseatingly predictable, hilarious because of how red Sheppard had flushed with each adoring compliment to his hair and eyes and height, and infuriating, because Rodney was supposed to have the monopoly on irrational, unworkable crushes on the colonel.

"I *knew* it," Rodney continued, pushing an increasingly belligerent John. "People who are attracted to you are never good news! We're making a new rule as soon as we get back to Atlantis!"

"Geez, somebody's in a rush," John commented mildly, and splayed out obligingly on the cushions, stretching in a completely pornographic way across them and rubbing one hand on his stomach, fingers smoothing along the hem of his black t-shirt, rucked up just enough to tease Rodney with a flash of John's flat stomach, the dark line of hair that disappeared into his pants.

Rodney's mouth went dry.

And then John did a thing where he tucked three fingers under the waist of his pants, stroking his own hip and let his eyes go sleepy and smoky and he said, "Well, Rodney? I'm lying down."

"Nrgh," Rodney said.

John grinned, and licked his mouth, and it was like a nightmare from porn street.

"Maybe you should lay down," John said innocently.

There go those verbs again, Rodney thought in a panic, and said again, "Nrgh."

In between the not-chicken and not-lamb Rodney had been distracted earlier, making orgasmic noises over the abundance of food, lovely food until Teyla and Ronon had had excused themselves to sleep and Rodney had rolled his eyes and turned to make some sort of inappropriate "If They Mated" joke to Sheppard only to find no trace of him.

He'd grabbed slice of not-apple pie and started wandering around looking for him, feeling a rising concern for whatever stupid, nubile alien babe had fallen under John's charms this time, and made himself ever more annoyed by the puerile, adolescent behavior of the entire team until he heard John's laugh--which, wow, Rodney realized he really liked and didn't hear much--coming from the most elaborately decorated hut in the village.

He'd even hung around the door a whole five seconds debating whether or not he should bust in and act as the ultimate cockblock before he heard John murmur, "Hey, who are you again?" through the curtained doorway.,

What he'd found, however, would be burned into his retinas, because there was no way Rodney could see all that golden, fire-lit skin and that sleepy, sexual smile on John's face without feeling it run through him like a shiver.

"Oh my God!" he'd yelled, and flung the pie aside in his panic, because John Sheppard was in the process of becoming more and more naked under the careful ministrations of the village chief, laughing like an idiot and murmuring soft, sexy noises as he all but *writhed* on the pillows, eyes glazed.

And then John had looked at Rodney and said brightly, "Hey, Rodney! Did Tobo here give you the good liquor, too?" which was when Rodney decided he *hated* the Pegasus Galaxy all over again.

So one tiny temper tantrum later here they were, in Rodney's hut at the edge of the forest with John--touching himself inappropriately for a team leader or even a stripper in most states, doped out of his mind.

"Ro---dney," John pouted. "Don't ignore me."

Rodney debated saying, "Nrgh," but realized how terribly undignified that was. "I--I'm not ignoring--" John rubbed his hand up underneath his t-shirt and sighed happily, hips coming off of the cushions "--for the love of *Kepler*, Colonel! Could you--! Stop touching yourself!"

Rodney never had to say things like, "Stop touching yourself!" in the Milky Way Galaxy, and for a moment, he suffered a bout of intense jealousy for Samantha Carter, who most likely had never seen General O'Neil stroking his own nipples suggestively. Then again.

"Aw, Rodney," John drawled, "don't be a spoilsport." John reached one long leg out and hooked his foot around Rodney's ankle, tugging and throwing Rodney's balance off--until Rodney maybe screamed a little bit like a girl and tumbled over on top of Sheppard, all vest and guns and powerbars between them, the rough netting of the material--John's solid heat a suggestion through the BDU pants.

Rodney pushed himself up on his hands and tried to scowl down at John, and even got halfway through saying, "What the hell do you think you're *doing*?" but then John hooked his thigh over Rodney's and just *rolled* their hips together--biting his lip and making the most shockingly obscene noise Rodney had ever heard.

"Oh," Rodney said feebly. "This is very bad."

John did it again and grinned, lazy and licking the corner of his mouth. "Don't be mean, Rodney." He sighed a little, putting one hand on the back of Rodney's neck and trying to pull him down, eyes twinkling. "Just go with it."

"Um," Rodney said, and his hips involuntarily ground against John's, friction hot and delicious and oh *God* this was the *worst mission ever* or maybe *the best*. "Wait--no--! Not good! No going," he said frantically, and tried to peel John's hands off of him. "I don't like this! Stop it! Right now!"

John cocked one eyebrow at Rodney and did the hip thing again, killing yet another significant population of Rodney's brain cells that he *desperately needed* as he said, "Oh? What's that, then?"

Rodney wanted to cry.

"...My gun?" he said feebly.

John grinned. "That's a very, very big gun you're carrying there, McKay."

Rodney *scowled*, because that was something Sheppard would *never* say, and it took almost a sixteenth of the hotness right out of the equation. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Colonel," he snapped, and started prying at John's hands in earnest.

"Flattery: it's everywhere you want to be," John said, giggling.

"Oh my *God*," Rodney whined, trying to disengage himself. "You're *so stoned*. I can't *believe this*."

And that's when John got an attitude, pushing himself up on his elbows and scowling at Rodney in a way that totally shouldn't have been but completely was crushingly hot.

"What the hell is your problem?" John demanded. "Look, are we going to have sex or not?"

Rodney boggled at him. "What? What? Are you out of your mind?" he said, horrified, and scrambled off of where he was basically sprawled out on across Sheppard's lap, ass hitting the floor and pulling a cushion in front of himself for protection.

John growled and oh God, was *that* was hot. "Look, McKay--I was doing okay with Tobo back there--"

"He drugged you!" Rodney argued.

John sighed, regrouped, and seemed to have come up with an entirely new tactic, which was to smile at Rodney and crawl over, hands and knees, until he was looming over Rodney and grinning, close enough so that Rodney could smell John: all gun oil and Atlantis clothes detergent and ocean water.

"Hi, Rodney," John said, all lush Southern vowels.

Rodney said, "Hi," weakly, pulling away until he realized he was on his *back* on the *floor* with Sheppard perched over him like a carnivore.

John grinned and dipped his head, burying his nose in Rodney's collar and--oh God, oh God, oh God, Rodney thought--flicking his tongue out to run it along Rodney's pulsepoint before he sucked a deep, bruising kiss there.

"Mm," John murmured approvingly.

Rodney whimpered and pushed ineffectually at John's--oh, that's very nice--biceps, and then John started *licking* up and down Rodney's jugular and Rodney resorted to babbling again:

"Um, I--this is all very--oh God--flattering and--holy shit, you vampire!--but I don't think that this is exactly the--oh, oh oh--brightest idea and--"

But then John stopped sucking on Rodney's neck so he could cover Rodney's mouth with his own.

And kissing John was a little bit like sitting shotgun in the Jumper: thrilling and amazing to watch John fly, fun and hot to go way too fast in an incredibly sexy piece of technology.

John licked his way into Rodney's mouth and ran his tongue over all of Rodney's teeth and bit at Rodney's lips, playfully, in between huffing laughter and Rodney caught himself kissing back, hands tight and knotted in John's hair, his thigh nudging between John's leg.

John was *laughing* as he kissed Rodney and Rodney could feel the smile on his mouth and it was so shockingly intoxicating that Rodney kissed John harder, wanted to taste what John tasted like when he was happy and figure out the chemical composition of his smile, and if he rubbed his knee against the inside of Sheppard's thigh, it was only to further scientific discovery.

And then Rodney scraped his nails along Sheppard's back and John whimpered, "Yeah--Rodney--" and Rodney just had to shove, roll them over, so that he had some gravity on his side and could really grind down on John, shove their hips together and feel John's hard cock through his pants, and Rodney tried not to come all over himself imagining what it'd feel like without all that cloth in between.

And then Rodney was in the driver's seat, and he'd always been fairly reckless, teeth scraping and hands bruising John's arm, his wrist, whatever Rodney could get a hold of because Rodney wanted to touch John all over--wipe off the tactile memory of Tobo and anybody else who might have ever touched John, because they couldn't possibly appreciate him the way Rodney did: like a mathematical proof, all elegant clean lines and simplified to the most fundamental expression of meaning. John was a hyperbole, a vector, a line, a point, he had appeared on Rodney's Cartesian plane and now Rodney was fascinated, trying to map him out, make sense of the supposed chaos--to find his proof.

And all of it was wrapped up in *John*, who was skinny and bedheaded and perpetually disinterested, who talked slow to buy time and faked stupid because he couldn't be fucked to explain himself.

Which was, of course, when Rodney suffered a terribly timed moment of conscience.

John looked confused when Rodney pulled away, mouth swollen and red and obscenely wet, like the burst-open heart of a cherry, and said, "Rodney?"

And Rodney kind of stared down at John for a moment and thought about Hail Mary's and killing 60 people with a Stargate and how the city lit up for her best beloved, about Atlantis and who they were there--and said, "Oh my God--we can't do this."

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard," John ground out, eyes flaring. "When you said, we can't do this, you meant, we're going to do it right now and take off our clothes, correct?"

"No," Rodney said, trying to sound firm, which he was--but not of conviction, he thought morbidly.

"Yes," John insisted, and tugged Rodney toward him, opening his mouth again and Rodney had to *shut his eyes* so he could speak in a complete sentence:

"Look, it's just that you're you know, kind of the ranking military officer on Atlantis and it'd be a bad idea based solely on that *not* counting the fact that--oh my *God*--you've been given *alien sex drugs* and I think I feel sick," Rodney finished pathetically and then opened his eyes warily.

John was looking at him blankly. "If you don't do men, you could just say," he said.

Rodney's eyes bulged.

"It's not a big deal," John sulked.

Rodney tried to flap his hands, which was hard, when they were what was keeping him from falling on John and them having some more sex, which was bad!, he kept reminding himself. 

"Oh *please*, that's so not even it, and I mean, look at you, you could make the straightest man ever--" Rodney cut himself off before he could say something even more embarrassing than he'd already admitted.

And when he met John's eyes again, it was to a brightly evil smile.

"So it's not the plumbing--"

"Oh my God, you did not just say that," Rodney moaned.

"--so let's *go*," John whined, and it shouldn't have been sexy but it *was* and Rodney blamed it on the thigh John had thrown over Rodney's hip.

Which pressed Rodney down again, under the warm weight of John's thigh--surprisingly thich and wonderfully strong for all this skinny chicken legs and Rodney was *not* going to feel affectionate about John's flaws because that just wasn't going to help the situation.

"No!" Rodney said again, voice rising in panic. He had just enough decency and self-control to hold him off for a few minutes longer, afterward, it'd be all feast instead of famine, and more hot, gay sex than even the Air Force knew what to do with. "Niet! Nein! Abuglah!"

John just tugged open Rodney's vest, unzipped his shirt, licked at his collarbone.

"That last one--" a slow, almost thoughtful, slide of his tongue across the hollow of Rodney's throat "--was not a real word."

Rodney made another noise that also wasn't a real word, and he felt his arms starting to give out on him, because honestly, every man had a breaking point, and Rodney's was about ten minutes ago, the first time John had wrapped around him, all searching hands and the suggestion of hot skin underneath his clothes, smelling like home and reckless braveness and sounding like a Southen summer.

"Colonel," Rodney said, voice shaking. "Sheppard--*John*."

And just like always, Sheppard just smiled at his worry, and Rodney felt John's mouth curve up against his throat, teeth grazing the fine skin there, stubble scraping at Rodney's neck.

"Stop," John said, nipping at Rodney's collarbone again, "thinking," he murmured, sucking another rosy bruise into Rodney's throat, "now," John finished, running his teeth over Rodney's Adam's Apple.

Well, Rodney was done being the bigger man--and that was fine, because John had complimented him on his very big gun.

He nodded feverishly, pulling John's face toward his, cupping John's cheeks, saying, "Okay. Yes. You're right," and kissed John soundly, open-mouthed and desperate, with no finesse at all.

John made a satisfied noise and gave as good as he got, wrapping his arms around Rodney's shoulders and jerking up against Rodney's hips. It was adolescent and indecent and Rodney was having hideous flashbacks to the backseat of his Dad's *Yugo* for God's sake but it was still the fucking hottest thing ever and he blamed it on John.

"Making progress," John said between kisses, "on that following orders thing."

"Well, you know," Rodney said, and slid up a little so John could reach down and fumble at Rodney's belt, hands brushing over Rodney's cock through the pants and it was *killing him*, sex was going to *kill him*. "Taking one for the team and all."

John laughed again and Rodney decided he really, really liked that sound. "That's one way to put it," he said, and did something where he managed to unbuckle Rodney's pants, unzip them, and shove them down in a jumble of metal and cloth, palming Rodney's ass with his big hands.

"Mmfgh," Rodney said into John's neck, grinding himself into John's thigh and feeling totally seventeen, dropping open-mouthed kisses behind John's ear.

"You should be rewarded for your dedication to excellence, Rodney," John said seriously, and one of his long, long fingers stroked down, and Rodney jumped when he felt John's fingers at his opening, pushing himself up to see John's self-satisfied expression.

"Um," Rodney said, feeling *shy* for no good reason all of a sudden, and flushing--which made John do it *again* and oh God, was that good and filthy in all the best ways.

And then John's grin went positively incandescent and he said, "Hey, slide up."

Which was how Rodney realized that maybe the very best thing in the entire universe, better than chocolate and ZedPMs and smart blondes was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard sucking Rodney's impressive brain out of Rodney's cock while John fucked him slowly with three slicked fingers.

At first Rodney was kind of worried about breaking John's ribs and then after John had sucked Rodney down his throat like a fucking porn star Rodney figured John could handle himself and applied himself to moaning and shoving his cock at John's face and his ass on John's fingers like a gigantic slut.

Which apparently made two of them because John was making orgasm noises around Rodney's dick--which made John's throat vibrate and hum and oh God--and squeezing Rodney's ass with his free hand, encouraging him, like sucking cock was the best thing ever, like he'd missed this for years.

And then Rodney made the fatal mistake or possibly best decision ever, of looking down, and saw John's lashes, all dark and thick, shadowing his cheeks and his lips red and bruised stretched obscenely around Rodney's cock. And at the exactly moment when John's eyes flicked upward to catch Rodney's open-eyed, dazed stare, John's fingers twisted and hit that spot inside him that set Rodney off like fireworks: black melting outward, with sparks and floaters in his vision, body shaking and arms going weak, until he was slumped over John's head, feeling his thighs trembling on either side of John's ribcage as he managed to catch himself with his arms, heard John making slick, satisfied noises, sucking him clean.

"Oh my God," Rodney gasped.

"Mm--good times," John grinned, and because he was a jerk, stroked his fingers inside Rodney one last time, just enough to make Rodney tremor with the aftershocks and glare at John.

"*Good times*?" Rodney said.

John just smiled at him serenely, stroking his hands over Rodney's thighs, still shaking a little. "Maybe you should get off my face," he suggested.

Rodney scowled. "Maybe I should punch you in it," he said, but obliged, struggling until he flopped down at John's side, boneless and buzzing. Even his *skin* felt good.

"You're such a charmer, Rodney," John said, and rolled onto his side to give Rodney a huge, stupid smile that Rodney could not help but return.

"Hi," John added and kissed him, hot and sloppy, a little more gently and Rodney didn't give into his urge to bite at John's swollen mouth, tasting himself on John's tongue and murmuring at it.

Rodney pushed his hands under John's t-shirt--and that was really the sluttiest thing about all of this, Rodney decided not-too-sadly, that they were still mostly clothed, John in his uniform and Rodney had his shirt on.

"Gettin' friendly there," John said, and wriggled as Rodney's hands smoothed over his belly, scratched over the hairy stomach, slid up over his chest, rubbed his thumbs over John's nipples. 

"I figure we can be buddies now," Rodney said seriously.

"Are you sure," John said, breathy, and Rodney grinned and decided to bite at John's pecs through his t-shirt, which he liked very much. "I mean, we could take it slow."

There was a laughing breathlessness in John's voice that Rodney wanted more of, so he decided to *lick* at John's chest through his t-shirt which was almost as fun, and then he defaulted back to teeth, hands following John's happy trail of dark hair to his uniform pants, with Rodney deftly undid with one hand.

"Hey," John said, blinking. "You're kind of a slut, aren't you?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rodney said, trying to sound innocent, but considering he was making his way down John's chest, shucking off John's pants as he went, he figured his carefully feigned innocence might have suffered.

And then Rodney's eyes went bright and round at John's cock, heavy and flushed and slick at the tip and kissed the base of it, nosing the dark curls there and John moaned, "Oh yeah--you're a slut."

"I prefer enthusiastic," Rodney said against John's balls, grinning. "I mean--I could stop."

John made a strangled sound and wound his hand in Rodney's hair. "No. That's okay. I like to--encourage enthusiasm and stuff."

"Are you sure?" Rodney asked, feigning concern.

"I'm *so sure*," John said, and whined insistently, rolling his hips and bumping at Rodney's chin.

Rodney licked his mouth innocently, in full sight of John and his feverish eyes. "Because I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I think I'll be okay," John said. "Really."

"As long as you're sure," Rodney said, and before John could growl at him he decided to go for broke in a move his college roommate had called Where The Fuck Are You Putting That?

John apparently went all quiet and feral on the edge of an orgasm, and Rodney hollowed his cheeks and bobbed up and down thanking a couple of non-prudish deities that he had almost no gag reflex because the way John Sheppard was looking at him would have *burned Rodney's pants off* had he still been wearing them.

Feral and quiet meant *nonverbal*, apparently, but the way John's jaw tightened, the particular rumble that came out of his throat and shook all the way down John's spine so Rodney could feel it--the inarticulate moan when Rodney pushed his hands underneath John, cupping his ass and helping John fuck Rodney's mouth--Rodney was fluent in that, and it sounded a lot like, "yes, yes yes."

And then John growled low and deep in his throat, fisted his hand in Rodney's hair and jerked into Rodney's throat, coming open-mouthed and silent and awed and Rodney rode it out, sucking John gently and stroking his thighs until they stopped trembling under Rodney's hands.

Rodney caterpillared back up John's body, smug and self-satisfied and John wasn't even phased by it, just caught Rodney's mouth for a quick brush of lips before he said, "You're really the best kind of slut, Rodney."

"Enthusiast," Rodney corrected drowsily and snuggled down, pillowing his head on John's shoulder.

"That, too," John yawned, and pulled a blanked over them with one hand and sort of pawed affectionately at Rodney's head with the other and Rodney only had time to think about how weirdly endearing that was for a second before he was out like a light.

When Rodney woke up it was to the sun gilding the joints in the hut, filtering through the thatched roof, the sounds of alien birds barking outside and John rubbing his morning erection against Rodney's thigh.

He enjoyed it for maybe a whole second before he came fully awake and sat up, horrified, pointing at John's sleep-blurry expression and yelling, "Oh my God! You're still drugged up! It didn't go away!"

John blinked three times before he said, "Oh--that?" and tugged Rodney down again. "Forget about it."

Rodney tried to be furious, but John was all sleepy and soft and warm in the blankets and cushions, surprisingly nice to curl up against despite his bony elbows and hips and knees and everything. Rodney tried for anger anyway, sneering, "*Forget* about the alien sex drugs? That drove you mad with insatiable lust?"

"I thought you liked the alien sex drugs," John said, feigning hurt, and stroking Rodney's hip very distractingly.

"I--stop that!--that's not the point!" Rodney said desperately.

Then John took off Rodney's shirt and Rodney floundered around for a few seconds as John applied himself to licking Rodney's sternum before he managed to hold the man at bay with both hands and a glare.

"You should be fixed now! I sacrificed my *virtue* for your needs," Rodney said feelingly.

John burst out laughing. "Virtue? So porn star deep-throating--that's just natural aptitude."

Rodney flushed. "Yes," he said stubbornly.

"Relax," John coaxed, voice all rounded with sleep, "the drugs weren't that strong." He leaned in to press a deep, open-mouthed kiss to Rodney's shoulder and said, "I knew what I was doing."

Rodney made a whole bunch of undignified angry noises but then John made that low rumble in his throat again and scraped his nails over Rodney's chest and Rodney thought maybe he could work up some enthusiasm for this morning, too.


End file.
